


but the ice don't melt

by infamousplot



Category: Fate/Prototype, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut, i dont know much but cusaya makes me sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 11:19:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3379601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infamousplot/pseuds/infamousplot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misaya is a fucking sadist, and Cu would be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on. </p><p>She is not a force of nature but a simple fact, undeniable and unshakeable in her very existence. It’s admirable, the way she refuses to be ground beneath the boots of anyone, never falling to bluster or false pride to cover her flaws. Everything she says and does, she owns, without an ounce of regret, utterly shameless. He cannot agree with all that she does, but he respects all that she is. And he will serve her until he has no more reason to do so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but the ice don't melt

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my heart, it's a fish out of water  
> Oh my heart, it's a rock in the gutter
> 
> Oh my heart, it's the black in a rainbow  
> Oh my heart, it's so damn so cold, so damn cold
> 
> And I throw my heart into the fire  
> 'Cos I want to set my heart on fire  
> And I watch it try befriending embers  
> But the ice don't melt in mid-December

It’s strictly business, she tells him, but she’s a fucking liar if there ever was one and he knows it. It’s nothing but pleasure, through and through, but it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy it.

His Master is like his teacher in many ways, and that is not limited to personality. Her tastes are similar as well, he always thinks, when she tightens the collar around his neck and makes him lick the soles of her shoes. And he does it, with the grin of a wolf that will rip her throat out if she loosens her hold, fighting the binds that restrict the movement of his arms.

She’s all about restraint- when it comes to other people, that is. He has never met a more dominant human being, or half human being, or anything for that matter, in his lifetime. You can see it in her eyes, red like the blood streaming down from their mouths and shoulders. She lets him bite her then kicks the shit out of him for marring her flawless skin, makes him lick her wounds, carves out little pieces of him and stifles moans when she manages to squeeze a sound of pain out of him. She likes to tie him down, and that’s not an easy feat. Chains and whips and all sorts of leather straps he’s terrified to learn the use of lines the walls of the cavernous space she calls her closet. She runs her hand along them, making sure he watches as they swing at her touch, taking the time to show him just how much power she has over him. Gae Bolg is sealed out of his reach thanks to her, he sleeps in a pile with her familiars, and his neck is still red from the places where the collars always chafe.

Misaya is a fucking sadist, and Cu would be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on.

She is not a force of nature but a simple fact, undeniable and unshakeable in her very existence. It’s admirable, the way she refuses to be ground beneath the boots of anyone, never falling to bluster or false pride to cover her flaws. Everything she says and does, she owns, without an ounce of regret, utterly shameless. He cannot agree with all that she does, but he respects all that she is. And he will serve her until he has no more reason to do so.

The space between them might as well not exist. She sits on the bed, regal and horrifying to all who gaze upon her, watching him expectantly. Her legs are spread, soft warmth opened up to him, waiting for him to enter. He glances up, barely meeting her eyes from this position- on his knees, arms strapped together, wrists bound to his ankles. The collar is tight, making it hard to breathe, hard to move, but she’s waiting, ever so patient, shadowed face cold as the icy shell she wears.

“Well?” she asks, nails digging into his chin as she cups his face, forcing him to look at her. “Get to it, puppy. Unless you need to go back to your cage?” There is no playfulness in her voice that he can hear, her tone is the same as ever, and he sneers at her, snapping at her fingers. She slaps his face. He grins.

“You aren’t a very nice Master,” he pouts, theatric as he leans in, breathing heavy just before her. It smells. It doesn’t taste all that good, but he licks it anyway, gently prodding it with his tongue. She’s soft. Wet, already aroused by his position, her body stiffening as he enters. He chuckles, laughter muffled by the soft folds, and she shudders just a little, grip on his hair tightening.

“Servants are familiars- if you’re too nice to them they start to think they’re pets. They forget their duty.” she replies firmly, a cold smile gracing that flawless face as she leans down to brush her lips against his hairline. They are also soft, somewhat cool, but it only lasts a second, as the smile gives way to teeth, scraping at his forehead. He digs deeper, gagging on the taste. It’s slimy and salty but it’s warm and it smells like her, and there is something overwhelming about being this close, about being inside of her and feeling her squirm as he does his job.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind bein your pet.” he speaks into her and she lets out a huff, bending over him to bite down on his ear. Her teeth grind painfully and he can hear her grunting, trying to hold it in, trying not to writhe. “In fact, I think I’d rather enjoy it.” he purrs, rolling his tongue, and then she’s gasping and he’s on the floor, beneath her body and her labored breaths. She is hot and small against his skin, pressing him into the floor and biting at his mouth. His arms are pinned against each other with straps, the leather collar so tight he almost can’t breath, and her nails grind and twist into his cock, wrenching at him painfully. He tries to hold it in all he can, plasters a shit eating grin on his face when she pulls back, bucking up against her. She makes the softest, most silent of yelps, before slamming him back to the ground. His head smacks against the tiles and he barks with pained laughter, wincing as she bites at his neck, tongue running up under his chin and pausing just above his lips, the space between them so infinitesimal it shouldn’t exist and yet it does.

He tries to push up, tries to press into her, but she’s glowing, ethereal wings shimmering in the darkness above her, and he can’t move. His skin burns and he lets out a growl, a whine, a moan as she sinks her nails in farther, drawing blood, watching him with those cold red eyes.

It almost feels like he’s home, the pain in his head and his sides and his everything, magic rippling slowly through him, ancient and familiar in a way that makes him ache. He hates himself for bending like he does, for letting himself be a tool, but he is a Servant and she is his Master, and he will be loyal to any who hold power over him. It is who he is.

They’re so much alike. The same icy shell, the same fire raging inside, the same deadly eyes. He roars in pain, thrashing against the binding, sinking his teeth into her breasts, slavering over her chest, panting and gasping for some sort of relief. He forces himself up, teeth skimming her Command Seals, entire body bristling as the magic that connects them jolts him hard. Misaya releases him, and he falls back, a cold hard thud against the floor. He laughs, sharp enough to slice his dried out throat.

For awhile he just lies there, panting and squirming as he tries to worm his way out of the binds. Misaya kneels over him, breathing heavy. Her face is flushed and she’s still glowing, winding down, eyes clouded over as she gazes into space.

He doesn’t bother to ask for her to release him, because he knows she won’t. It takes a bit of writhing, but he manages to shift into spirit form enough to phase through the straps. Tired and laughing, he watches her pushing herself up, pulling on her rumpled clothes and crawling back atop the bed. No, crawl is the wrong word- whatever the elegant parallel for crawling is, that is what she does.

Lancer shakes the bed when he sits down, clambering not so elegantly onto the mattress and lying down beside her, at least six inches away. She doesn't do cuddling, she doesn't do aftershock, she's in and she's done, as soon as she gets what she's after. He pulls a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lights it, about to take a drag when it is snatched from his fingers. He follows the glow and watches as Misaya place it between her lips, breathing in deep. A plume of smoke rises from her mouth. She doesn’t look at him. She never does, after sex.

“You enjoy it?”

“Why do you always ask that?” she sighs, smoke trailing out in a steady stream, her words tapering off into the dark. “Yes, Lancer. It was enjoyable. I would not mind doing it again. Is there a specific response you’re looking for?” She still isn’t looking at him, so he props himself up on his elbows, leaning over her so that she has no choice. She watches him coldly, breathing another puff of smoke into his face.

“You’re so frigid.” he teases at her hair, letting it run between his fingers, feeling the mana sparkle at his touch. “You don’t have to be so serious all the time,  you know…” He leans down and presses his lips to hers, gently, softly. Just once he wants to feel the slow burn, instead of the frenzy, the short burst of fire that only comes out when he’d pushed her to the very edge and she can’t keep it inside any longer. He wants to feel her, all of her, not just a part of her. He thinks he can taste it, the fire, until he realizes she’s burning his mouth, forcing him back without touching him.

He rears back, watching her from the foot of the bed, trying not to make a sound. Misaya is watching him, any feelings she might have locked firmly behind those icy eyes. She sits up, smoothing out her shirt, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

“Leave the pleasantries until another time, hmm?” She’s sealed up again, walls of ice and snow blocking off anything remotely close to attachment. He’s stupid for trying. He knows the rules. “Pace yourself Lancer. If we win, you may get your chance. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

He nods, numb, standing at the side of her bed now. He’s stupid. For doing the one thing she herself refuses to do, getting attached. Getting attached to someone who does not care because she can’t afford to, can’t allow herself to. He just can’t keep himself out of trouble.

“Sorry, Master.” he says, forcing himself to be rigid and businesslike. “It won’t happen again.” Misaya watches him in silence as he turns and leaves, heading off to find the dogs and bring them to their bed.

When he closes the door, he thinks he hears a sigh- heavy enough to crush him in its sorrow.


End file.
